


Views from the Heath

by wuthergirl



Category: Wuthering Heights - All Media Types, Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:28:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuthergirl/pseuds/wuthergirl
Summary: This is my second fanfiction, while both are modern AUs, this fanfic reimagines the full story of Wuthering Heights, spanning both generations. Set in the ‘80s and gradually progressing to the ‘00s. This was originally something I wrote on Wattpad (under the title The Heights) but I’ve decided to post it here as well. Updates will be active.
Relationships: Catherine Earnshaw & Heathcliff, Catherine Earnshaw/Edgar Linton, Catherine Earnshaw/Heathcliff, Catherine/Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights), Hareton Earnshaw/Heathcliff, Heathcliff/Isabella Linton





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Mr Earnshaw brings a strange ‘gift’ home.

It was blustering that morning when the sun came up too hot, too early, burning on the edges of the horizon. A mirage on the desert sand, that is how it shivered and struck the landscape in its ascension, waking the civilians that inhabited the area that lay in its rays. A fierce greeting by the elements could be greeted by an even fiercer creature: little Cathy Earnstone. 

Cathy stuffed her paws in her jumper pockets in a huff, it was Sunday - the day of church. A time specifically designed to worship God, speak silently of your most incredulous sins, baptizing oneself in the comfort of the words the priest speaks when addressing the congregation, the pews and the stain glass saints that are all too quiet in their sanctuary and lest we forget - ensure your souls entrance to Heaven. Hell would seem rather pleasant instead, Cathy thought, the irony not lost on her. She detested it all, that dreadful Sunday routine, Mothers hands only too eager to wrap her into a clean white line frock, lace socks and Cathy's most hated apparel: her church shoes. She would fuss, fight and dribble a little on purpose so that they awful splotchy stains on the white material or she would run out to the stables as soon as she felt herself free from Mothers frenzied grip, dusting herself with the light coat of horse hair, dirt and earthy bog like stench that would permeate through the church no matter where she sat. It was just a rather delicious added bonus that those actions earned her an all too common display in their house: mother in one of her fits, tantrums or whatever pissed off show she would express. It was all the same to Cathy, who would watch with a peevish grin and mischievous eyes, unbothered to the chaos she had incited.

It made sense then for her to be a Daddy's girl, after all her father understood her - well not so much understood as he let her get her away. He didn't insist on her to conform to wear what little girls should wear to be deemed appropriate but rather he encouraged her love of the outdoors, animals and her boisterous nature in attempts at adventures and acquiring common skills at the stables. Cathy loved him for that, for letting that side of have a breathable space to exist rather than suppressed under layers of lace and linen and those goddamn ribbons. 

Being of that tomboy nature, Cathy mostly carried on like a boy although she was content being a girl she detested, even at the tender age of 6, the blatant treatment of boys compared to girls, she saw it at school through the little boys who would puff their chest out proclaiming their strength while shaking their inch of a fist, teasing all the girls whenever they attempted anything with the all too common and accepted "like a girl" suffix insult. Why was it seen as weak? Why is doing something like a girl weak? I'm a girl and I'm strong, stronger than most boys, Cathy mused kicking stones along the way on the Moors. I gave Hinden such a nice smack in the face and he bled! Who says girls aren't strong and fast, Cathy giggled to herself remembering the other day when only too irritating older dimwit of a brother picked a fight with her and she delivered a sound blow that shut him up. She had always had a strained relationship with Hinden, she loved only for the sake of being her brother at the same time hated his ways, his attitude that was too similar to the little boys she knew at school: unnecessarily angry about a fat nothing. 

Today was Sunday, but it was a good Sunday, father was arriving back from one his business trips from the City and so they had missed the stuffy clergy to stay at home and prepare for father to return. Well mother was doing most of the preparations and trying as she could to get Cathy to help she knew the less Cathy helped the smoother the day would go and so with that Cathy went off to scamper in their wild backyard. Living on the moors had its perks when you had an entire vast land of greenery, plains and caves craving to be explored by a curious human or in this case a curious 6 year old. Cathy hurried now, biting her bottom lip which was full and rosy, she had been told to be back home at noon and so off she went, the quick paced meander turning into a anxious sprint. Quick gasps of air that escaped from her mouth while running hung like white clouds just by lips, it was that cold. 

Father had promised them presents and she was ever so excited, so much so that she did a little skip on the way home that made her rich, earthy brown hair bump into the air, the tempestuous wind clearly at home resting in between her curls. She had requested a bag of marbles, a pair of new trainers (she had scuffed the last of her old ones) and the new comic books she had seen advertised on TV. Hinden on the other hand had attempted at a much more lavish demand: the latest in cassettes and a new Walkman that Hinden was obsessed with. Mother had wanted some fancy dress that she had seen on the cover of one of those glossy magazines with all the colours and movie stars on. What a waste, Cathy's opinion of her mothers request rang as silly in her little head. 

She was at the house now, she could see it a few yards away. It stood tall and intimidating to its landscape, the windows, doors and panels set into the farmhouse in grim expression, bulky and raw but styled in the old adage of Gothic design, resting in this modern world. Growing up in this house was all the home she had ever known, instilling in her a love of the grim, the bare and rustic and the warmth it gave her through its darkness. 

She pushed on the heavy wooden backdoor of the kitchen and was instantly rewarded with a wave of warm air that hit her from the kitchen. It hung in the air heavy with its smell of freshly baked things. She was hungry now, her stomach growled, she attempted to nick a small cupcake from the stand where their housekeeper Elle stood, back turned to Cathy's doing. Cathy grabbed out but not before   
Elle, still with her back turned could sense her, 

"Don't even try it Cat"

"But Elle I'm starving! And how did you know, you couldn't even see me!" 

"A blind lad could see the likes of your scheming, now if you're so hungry take an apple, its there over by the table"

"But-"

Before she could finish her sentence, mother walked in and zeroed in on Cathy, clearly earth kissed by the looks of her dusty apparel. Cathy knew she was in for it, it was only a matter of time. 1, 2, 3..

"Dammit Cathy, your father will be back from London any moment and you look fit to sleep with the horses!"

Cathy grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Don't give me that look young lady, now get upstairs, wash yourself and look decent will you?" Her mother grumbled.

Normally Cathy would put up a fight but the promise of the impending presents was to special to throw away. She hurried up the stairs and flew into her bathroom, stripping to nothing and smacked some soap on her then let the shower water cleanse her. She stood there awhile enjoying the hot pulsating sprays to beat her against back in the most soothing way, the water stretching out like tentacles devouring her fresh flesh, warm and supple. 

Her eyes snapped open and she shut the shower off and jumped into a pair of clean black slacks and a ruby sweater. She brushed her hair till it settled then out the brush down and shook her head wildly allowing the curls to breathe a new life into them. Her deep brown curls had bits of red woven in them and they stood out now against her sweater. She dawdled a bit in front of the mirror making funny faces at herself. She had a small, heart shaped face, bright and almond shaped deep set brown eyes, muddy, earthy and warm. Sharp little nose that gave her a proud air when turned upwards and full rosy lips that were plump. Right now they were being contorted to varying degrees of silliness, she pulled her nose upwards with her finger so it made her look like a pig and snorted a bit. She was giving herself the giggles. She always was good at making herself laugh. Besides her father, no one else did. 

"Girls shouldn't be sounding like fat pigs rolling mud", a voice sneered. 

Hinden. 

He was in the doorway in his jeans and polo shirt. Cathy often thought he dressed like a twat.

"You would know, being a fat pig yourself", Cathy chirped, her eyes not leaving the mirror. So she didn't see Hindens eyes grow wide and bulge from their sockets like those toys you squeeze till their heads pop.

"Shut up would you! You're 6 for gods sake! You don't talk to me like that, I'm older than you and your brother", he snapped.

"All I see is a fat pig. I don't see an older brother. And you can talk to pigs anyway you like", Cathy snapped back, the Cheshire smile back on her face and slipped out his reach just as he was about to grab for her. 

Mother called for them, father's car was pulling up to the driveway, and Cathy felt the tingly excitement shiver through her bones like flower enduring a winters night.

This was it. She heard the front door open and the heavy clunk of baggage hitting their hardwood floors and the chatter. 

Father was home. 

* * * 

"

Daddy!", Cathy screeched into the afternoon dusk as she came bounding down the stairs, wildly. 

Hinden, Mother and Elle were already by the front door, lined up like cans on the shelf, ready to be greeted, to be picked. 

Father had been standing still by the door. He had not inched closer to greet anyone and so those lined up scrunched their face, twisting in confusion, lost in the miasma of their mind to notice that father was wearing an awfully long coat that seemed to bulge by his waist on one side only and while he stood still that bulge shifted, it seemed to be separate from him yet was cloaked to be apart of him, it was alive. 

The bulge coughed. A coughed that rang into the eery silence that had settled into the space, even Cathy now was a statue by the stair landing, eyes studying the bulge and it's movements, her mouth parted in awe, gathering saliva, open as if a little bird were to perch itself on her lips and drink from the well that is her mouth. 

Her father voice croaked into the silence, "I have brought something from the city and before you descend your opinions upon it, I believe it is the right thing, the Christian thing to do"

"Daddy you don't make sense", Cathy seeming found her voice that rustled into the air sounding like a lost frequency. 

"Henry, Cats right, what are you talking about?", her mother added.

Henry became silent and slowly undid his coat. In the moments he took to undo each button seemed to never end as if his fingers were purposefully attempting to draw the suspense out of everyone in the room. Drawing blood would've been less painful. 

The coat was taken off and in that moment, everything became languid. A series of gasps followed, they were choked out, a forced removal of expression.

A little boy appeared by Henrys side, a head full of curls that grew shabbily over the crown of his forehead. A single black lock trailed down to the strong bone of his nose, Cathy followed it only to be confronted with the darkest abyss she had ever gazed through: his eyes. There was a momentary spark of light that erupted in them at the sight of her but then it flashed away, a firework disappearing into the night. His mouth was grim and cruel, dirt screamed across his cheeks, across the gaunt plains & the chiseled valleys of his face. 

His eyes never left Cathy.

"Oh Henry, what have you done", Mothers voice was barely a whisper.

"This is Heathcliff", Henry boomed proudly, "I found him writhing in the muck by a gritty corner in Liverpool. No child should live like that. He's to stay with us. To be taken in. Raised and cared for. As one of us."

Hinden's eyes twitched with hate, Cathy's with wonder.

Mother sputter end her speech, "What do you mean cared for? One of us? Henry I will not have-"

"Come now Cathy, Hinden, he's your new brother, say Hello", Henry cut in. Heathcliff was here to stay.

Hindens hands were balled into fists, the knuckles swimming from pale pink to shades of white, his teeth grinding against each other, hard. He was going to say "Hello" in the only way he saw appropriate. 

Suddenly, a heavy glob of spit was resting on Heathcliffs face, glinting in the light as it slid off heavily. His skin had tasted Hinden, his skin had tasted hate. 

Cathy's eyes snapped up to the sound of father giving Hinden a sound blow, she could hear his hand hit against Hinden's cheek making that stinging pelt of a noise. She could've swore she saw Heathcliff smile but it happened so quickly like a flash of lightening and she was sure that it wouldn't strike twice. 

This entire scene played out in front of the perfect stranger but his eyes never left Cathy. 

They would never leave Cathy.


	2. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy has a roommate.

Cathy fumbled about in her room, for the first time a wave of anxiety had caught her, twisting knots in her stomach, it's tendrils making their way upwards to her neck leaving her without words in her mouth and a lump in her throat. Her lower lip was over chewed and dry, she had wrung out her hands as much as she could, now they were not her hands, they were strangers to her.

His name is Heathcliff. 

She was unsure how to feel or rather what to feel. It confused her terribly. She was curious about this foreigner, he had struck in her a chord both oddly comforting as it was troubling . He looked like trouble but then again she liked trouble, she always caused it. 

Maybe he'll be better than Hinden, better than all the boys at school. 

Hinden and her father had finished their row not too long ago only for father and mother to be at each other. She could hear the raised voices, varying at different volumes, hurting in different places. Hinden had shut himself in his room, not that he would be missed, well not by Cathy anyways. 

She did not want to get carried away, she didn't even know him for crying out loud! No, she must be on guard, she resolved to herself, she had to put him through some kind of test. 

The lightest rapping of knuckles against her door jerked her from her reverie, her eyes shot up and there he stood, watching her carefully as if anticipating her actions or rather her reaction towards him. She was certainly not afraid of him, it was her territory and it would be known. 

"What do you want?" She asked, baring her teeth. She was a jungle cat, ready to bite.

"Mister Stone-", he began. 

"Earnstone", she corrected.

"Yes Mister Earnstone said I'm to sleep here, in your room" he said not missing a beat. Heathcliff had seemed fixated with her from the beginning, that dark abyss that studied her seem to consume the image of her, storing it, keeping her. 

He licked his lips, once - then twice. Waiting. 

The room then did not seem to belong to her or him. It did not seem to exist anymore, they had entered a new dimension that sucked them both in to this state of disillusionment, which refused to let her go. 

She cocked her head to the side and he mirrored her actions, playfully. 

"Are you sure father said that?", she asked, just as playfully. 

He shrugged, "Ask him yourself".   
He was in earnest but he wanted to play. 

She turned her head up and the proud air followed, kicking herself off the bed and out of the room. 

He glanced back as she went to find father, wondering at himself how he could feel something tear inside him when she turned her back on him, it caught him at the base of his throat and he gulped to swallow it back down till she came back.

Please come back.

* * *

She had gone to find father and confirm what Heathcliff had told her about his sleeping arrangements, she could never be sure with Heathcliff and she did not desire to have the wool pulled over her eyes on his first night, in her room, in a house that did not belong to him. 

Father had assured her that the boy spoke truth and had even given her a camper bed with an extra thick duvet for the lad. She walked back to her room with her arms full, her brows furrowed. 

He had not moved an inch from the time Cathy had left, ever the statue standing guard at her door, when she passed him she heard a sigh escape him and from the corner of her eye she watched his muscles relax in sync with the breath that he had expelled. 

"Father gave me a camper bed and thick duvet for ya", she huffed. Plopping them down on the carpet beside her bed, she then turned to grab her pajamas off her nightstand then to the bathroom in the corridor where she would get ready for bed. She could not change in her bedroom as she usually would've, no, now she was a host in her own space. She had yet to determine if he proved worthy. 

Heathcliff stared at the camper bed intently, it was foreign to him to sleep on anything besides the bare pavement concrete or rubble and he'd be lucky if he found a brick. His life had been sparse of comfort, of warmth, of anything humane, he couldn't imagine the feel of such material nor it's design. He stood solitary in Cathy's room, her scent dancing past him as she left for the bathroom, he breathed deeply around her, to experience her. 

He bent, inching his fingertips for the dark bundle on the floor until he felt the cool sensation of the material, but what did he know about materials? The feeling of his own clothes had become numb to him, as ragged and dirty as they were, he might as well had been nude. 

Approaching footsteps had him snap back into place and recoil from the bundle. He heard a soft sigh behind him, so gentle it caressed the air traveling towards him, Cathy. She made a funny little sound at discovering he had not yet set his camper bag up but then it struck her - he had no idea what a camper bag was, desolute life on the streets had taught him many things but he was unfamiliar with the commonplace amenities that she so blindly took for granted.

She moved past him to reach for the bundle then went about setting it up all while Heathcliff stood painfully still, a statue on guard. Cathy looked at her handiwork, grabbing a pillow off her bed, fluffing it before placing it down by the head side. She proceeded to get into her own bed and motioned for Heathcliff to do the same which he did but only after she was safe in her sleeper. He laid gingerly, his back experiencing the euphoric sensation of a soft sleeper, it was better than anything Heathcliff had known, he felt something heavy land on top of him and he sat up instinctively, flinching at the sudden impact - Cathy had placed a thick woolen blanket, in bright fur like lining, so rich and deep the hue ran he felt unworthy of the thing. 

Cathy had her back towards him, unsuspecting to the scene unfolding beside her was busy fixing her own blankets up, turning to face him as he stared at the blanket in his lap. Bewildered and silent. 

"That's for you", Cathy interjected softly, "it gets pretty cold here, you'll need it"

He snapped his eyes towards the sound of her voice, he understood but stared further at her, watching. 

He's a funny creature this one, she thought, before setting the blanket for him. She was close to him now, he could feel how hot the air became just then, how every hair on his form stood out like soldiers saluting their superior: her. A few strands of her hair grazed him, he wondered how he did not combust right then. 

She returned to her bed and he felt himself lowering to his pillow, engulfed in heat, blood coursing within him, his veins pulsating. Cathy settled into her bed and stared at the ceiling, only too aware of the stranger just below her, foreigner that he was - she could not deny, even at her young age, the spark of a kindred fire that erupted when their eyes met and when the heavy winds chilled the air of its heat, it was that same fire that kept them warm that night.


End file.
